The Doctor and the Nurse
by doctorkaitlyn
Summary: The Doctor and the nurse. He has a feeling that the universe is going to remember that pairing for a long time.


**Author's Note: **I did say that I wanted to write something over 1,000 words. xD This is the first time in awhile that I've written from the Doctor's perspective and I actually forgot how fun it was. I hope all you lovely readers enjoy, xo.

**The Doctor and The Nurse.**

There are times where the Doctor really, truly believes that the TARDIS has a strange fetish for sending him into situations that promise danger. It's either that, he reflects as he slams her door shut against the mob of angry medieval villagers that are attempting to set him alight, or she has a rather large jealousy issue. It has to be one of those two, because there were no other logical reasons why she had to send him and Rory back to the Middle Ages, right into the midst of witch burnings. And of course, the villagers had been rather confused about the blue box that had appeared in the middle of the field (he _really _had to work on fixing that) and, understandably, they'd immediately come to the conclusion that him and Rory were wizards who needed to burned at the stake.

Okay, maybe it wasn't so understandable. Their logic was lacking in a few areas. But, flawed logic or not, the point was that he'd barely broken out of the town gaol in time to save Rory, who was about five minutes away from being turned into a human kebab. But none of that mattered, because they'd gotten away without an arrow in the back and now they were safe in the TARDIS and (after the Doctor had a few words with her), they could be off to somewhere a lot more pleasant.

Except Rory is crying. The Doctor doesn't hear it at first; he's already dived below the console, rummaging through a bin of loose parts, intent on looking for something that could make the sonic work on wood. But when he stops tossing the random bits of metal around, he hears it; quiet sniffling, barely perceptible above the humming of the TARDIS. When he wriggles out and turns around, he actually stops in his tracks, his mouth dangling open just the slightest because the sight in front of him is just so _unusual._ Not the crying bit; he's seen plenty of people crying. It's the fact that it's _Rory_ crying; the same Rory who has been travelling with him for quite some time now, who has watched the deaths of hundreds of creatures and not shed a single tear in front of the Doctor. He may have cried in private but now, he's leaning against the railing, face buried in his hands, fingers shiny with tears.

The Doctor would be lying if he said he knew how to handle the situation.

"Rory?" He stands up slowly, cautiously, reading Rory's body language for clues. All creatures have different reactions when they're upset. Some want physical closeness, a shoulder to cry on while others get angry and lash out. After the incident they've both just gone through, he's not really up for a fist in the face. Thankfully however, Rory doesn't tense up when he takes a step forward so he keeps walking until he's standing maybe a foot away, jamming his hands in his pockets. Rory coughs once and wipes his eyes with his sleeves, but that doesn't stop the tears that continue to leak down his cheeks.

"Sorry," he mutters and the Doctor resists the urge to bite back a comment about the pointlessness of apologizing for normal biological functions. "Just..."

"Rory, it's okay to cry," he says, taking another half-step forward and laying a hand on Rory's shoulder. "What you just went through was very stressful. Your mind is probably still attempting to process the event, I mean _mine _still is and..." The Doctor doesn't know what else to say, really. Rory hadn't seemed to mind the physical contact though so he does the only thing he can think of: he hugs Rory. After a few seconds of initial hesitation, Rory seems to become boneless in his arms, causing the Doctor to stumble back a few steps before he gains his footing. He's always been fond of hugs, especially in his current regeneration, but this doesn't seem like a real hug. Instead, he settles on the word embrace; it seems to fit the way Rory is almost desperately clinging to his back, fingernails catching in the fabric of his jacket.

"Thank you." It takes the Doctor a moment to realize it but Rory is murmuring into his neck, saying _thank you _over and over again. The Doctor wants to clarify what he's being thanked for but Rory doesn't seem to want to let go yet so he only tightens his arms around Rory's neck, pulling him closer. The shoulder of his jacket is probably damp with tears but he disregards it; it's probably time to wash the thing anyways, just in case there are some ancient diseases clinging to it that Rory might catch.

With that thought still lingering in his mind, Rory takes a step back, letting his arms fall away. If he's being honest, the Doctor kind of misses them once they're gone. It's been so long since he's hugged another male; he can't remember if it was Mickey or Jack or maybe someone he's forgotten. The point is that hugs from a man are so much different; they're stronger and warmer and harder and just _different_.

But he reminds himself that it was an embrace, not a hug. And that changes things entirely.

"You saved my life." Rory's hands are suddenly on his face, cradling his skull and the Doctor's stomach is suddenly churning a lot more than it was five seconds ago. He's stopped crying and he's merely staring at the Doctor, his gaze unwavering in a way that should feel uncomfortable but doesn't.

"I save everyone," the Doctor says but the words don't come out nearly as light-heartedly as he wants. Indeed, his voice seems to have gotten a little deeper, in a way that he barely recognizes. He swallows hard, still very conscious of Rory's thumbs splayed over his cheekbones and tries to speak again.

"It's my job..." That's all he can spit out because Rory is suddenly a lot closer to him and even though the fragile skin around his eyes is still red and puffy, the Doctor realizes something that he never really considered on a conscious level.

Rory is _beautiful. _He isn't just attractive, although he's certainly very pleasing aesthetically (even if his nose is a little too big). It's what lies in his eyes that truly makes him beyond attractive. Those eyes, those gorgeous brown eyes, hold such gratitude in them; such gratitude and such dedication and such strength. They remind him of someone he tries so desperately not to think about but once he makes the connection, his knees go a teeny bit weak.

He can't let this happen. Not again. Not after the last time. But even as he thinks this, he knows it's too late and, even if he isn't consciously aware of it, Rory seems to know that it's too late as well. His palms press harder against the Doctor's face and he steps closer, his breath warm against his lips.

Once Rory kisses him, he knows that he's lost. But oh, does being lost feel so fantastic. Rory tastes like wood smoke and the Doctor can't help but feel a twinge of guilt somewhere in his gut because he knows its _his fault _that Rory tastes like that. But it tastes wonderful and he presses harder, his fingers folding into the fabric of Rory's jumper. Before he knows what's happening, Rory is stepping backwards until his back is against the railing once more and oh, that really makes things easier. Don't have to worry about falling over anymore which is good, because the more he kisses Rory, the weaker he feels. It's a good kind of weak however, a _tempting _kind that's making him unable to think about anything other than the wonderful man in front of him, the man who is pulling him closer until they seem to be touching from their feet to their shoulders.

He'd be lying if he said it didn't feel nice to be able to stop thinking for awhile.

Despite the urgency of his hand's movements, the way Rory is kissing him is anything but. His lips are moving slowly, sliding over the Doctor's in a way that almost feels liquid. His tongue pokes out after awhile but it just barely flickers against the Doctor's bottom lip before disappearing again. He just does his best to keep up; after all, it's been awhile since something like this occurred. Plenty of people have kissed him as their way of thank you but he's never felt the desire to return it. Now, he doesn't want to let go; even when Rory pulls away, trying to get his breath back, the Doctor finds himself kissing him still, pressing butterfly kisses to his lips until he can breathe again.

He doesn't want to let go because for the first time since Rose Tyler, he's really, truly _feeling _something.

He has no clue how long they stand there, pressed against each other but doing no more than kissing and carding fingers through hair. It could be an eternity for all he knows but when Rory pulls away again and rests his forehead on the Doctor's shoulder, the Doctor realizes that he feels slightly short of breath.

Now _that's_ new.

"I should really get some sleep," Rory murmurs against his jacket, rubbing his cheek gently on the fabric. "Being chased by an entire village is tiring work, after all."

"Imagine if they had eight legs." Rory stands up straight and raises an eyebrow and inwardly, the Doctor sighs happily. He'd had a moment, a very brief moment where he was afraid that the kiss was going to make things awkward, that him and Rory would be tip-toeing around the issue for days to come and that probably would have ended up with Rory asking to go home and yet another period of self-loathing for the Doctor. But that doesn't seem to be an issue because Rory is just looking at him in that way that says he clearly believes him to be ridiculous and he feels himself grinning like a fool.

"True story. Now, go get some sleep Mr. Williams," he murmurs, laying one last kiss on Rory's forehead. "I'll be here when you wake up." He receives an all too adorable tired smile in return and he goes back to rummaging around under the console, tossing various pieces of metal behind him. He finds something that could potentially be useful but when he wriggles out again, he completely forgets about what he planned on doing with it.

He truly believes it's the first time he's been struck dumb by the same person in such a small span of time.

Apparently, Rory had only made it to the small bench he'd installed on the control deck only a few days before, after Rory had insisted that the spinny chairs were horribly uncomfortable. For all intents and purposes, he's really too tall to sleep on the thing; even with his knees brought up to his chest, his feet are dangling over the edge. But he's already long gone, snoring quietly so the Doctor decides to leave him there, looking peaceful. Besides, if he has nightmares (which is all too possible), the Doctor will be able to get to him faster.

He manages to distract himself for about two hours before a thought hits him. It takes him a moment to process it but when he does, he starts grinning again, barely resisting the urge to clap his hands in glee because it's _perfect._

The Doctor and the nurse. How could he not have seen that earlier? It makes complete and total sense, after all; more than anyone, Rory understands the importance of what they're doing, the importance of life and death. It's why he's never flinched in the face of any death but his own: because he's a _nurse. _It's what he's trained to do.

The Doctor and the nurse. He has a feeling that the universe is going to remember that pairing for a long time.


End file.
